Move Along
by Miss Pookamonga
Summary: Songfic based on the song by All American Rejects. Lemony and his close friend reflect on the things that have happened to them over the years as they ride the taxi away from Hotel Denoument...please R&R better than it sounds


_Dear Readers,_

_I got inspired while listening to All American Rejects's "Move Along" to write this songfic. I hope it isn't too angsty--I wasn't meaning for it to be. I just the song fit well with the SUE theme, and I got this random idea. So I hope you all like it. And I hope it's as meaningful as I was hoping for it to be._

_Best regards from a Bookworm,_

_Miss Pookamonga :-)_

He thought of them sadly as the taxi drove off down the city street. He could see the smoke rising from the building in the distance, and he hung his head. He knew what had happened. He knew from the beginning that it was going to happen—and that they would cause it because he had done something just like it in his youth. He had always been one to be pessimistic, ever since that fateful time fifteen years ago when his whole world had fallen apart. Since then he had always had the view that nothing would ever be right again. That was why he needed them, those children, because no matter what happened to them, or what they did, they kept on going. And it was their perseverance that fueled his hope.

_Go ahead as you waste your days with thinking_

_When you fall everyone stands_

_Another day and you've had your fill of sinking_

_With the life held in your_

_Hands are shaking cold_

_These hands are meant to hold _

He did not look up, or back out the window, but instead turned his head to the woman curled up on the seat beside him and gazed at her imploringly. Just as he did, he noticed suddenly the tears streaming down her heart-shaped face. He bit his lip, trying to contain his own storm of grief within his body.

"It's okay, Lemony," she whispered hoarsely. "Everything's going to be all right."

He stared at her deep brown eyes, those big, dark pools so characteristic of the Quagmire family, and nodded, trying to believe what she was saying. But he knew in his heart that neither one of them was fully sure that anything good could come of the chaos that had been happening for almost two decades. Not now. It was too late. Too many ties had been severed, too many promises broken, too many innocent lives taken. Nothing could turn around now—not when the world was bleak and twisted in a cyclone of despair. Not when the noose was tightening around their necks, cutting it too close for comfort.

"I know we both don't think we believe what I just said," said the woman after a long silence, which had been broken only by the melancholy tune playing on the radio. "But sometimes we have to stop thinking. Sometimes we just have to let everything sink in. Sometimes we have to…to accept things for what they are—" Here she cut off the sentence with a sob. She took a deep breath and tried to recover. "There's nothing we can do now. Our last resort is each-ch o-other. I'm here for you." She stopped, not knowing exactly what had made her say that last sentence.

But to her surprise, he answered. "I know. I'm here for you too, Emily Rose Quagmire Winnepeg." He attempted to smile after reciting her full name, but to no avail. Instead, tears began trickling down his face.

"You've always been there," she whispered.

_Speak to me, when all you got to keep is strong_

_Move along, move along like I know you do_

_And even when your hope is gone _

_Move along, move along just to make it through_

_Move along_

_Move along _

"So have you, for me," he replied. "You've been there for so many people. Dorothy and Isidore, and their children, your niece and nephews."

She finally managed a small smile at the thought of the triplets, Isadora, Duncan, and Quigley. She wasn't really their aunt—she was more like a second cousin—but their father, her first cousin, had been so much of a brother to her that she felt as if she had that aunt relationship to them.

"And the Baudelaires. You've helped them too. Being a godmother to those children, helping Beatrice—" here he paused, trying not to choke on his words, "—with them when Violet and Klaus were young, being a good 'sister' to Bertrand…" he trailed off as he found himself lost in his memories.

"You've helped them too," she told him. "You've been on their cases for—ever since this all began."

"But I was never able to do anything for them," he answered sorrowfully. "Look at where they are now—back with Olaf, having accidentally killed Dewey, lied, burnt down a hotel—and the Quagmires are still lost somewhere with Hector. It's all my fault."

She uncurled herself, sat properly on the car seat, and picked up the small, but fragile package that was sitting between them. She placed it in her lap and laid a hand gently on his shoulder.

"There are many things that I will never be able to console you for," she said seriously, focusing her brown eyes on his dark grey ones. "But I _can_ tell you that none of this is your fault."

"Yes—"

"No. No it's not," she remarked sternly. "Besides, fault doesn't matter now. What's done is done."

"That's what's so horrible," he whispered, his pain piercing through his words. "We can't change anything now."

There was another long silence belong them. After a few moments, she opened her mouth to say something, but thought better of her decision and closed it again. Instead, she reached out and took his sweaty, cold hands in her dry, warm ones and held them there comfortingly.

_So a day when you've lost yourself completely_

_Could be a night when your life ends_

_Such a heart that will lead you to deceiving_

_All the pain held in your _

_Hands are shaking cold_

_Your hands are mine to hold_

He had been looking down at her slender hands rubbing his own softly. But now he lifted his eyes to her face and realized how small she seemed in the grand scheme of things. Yet she had done so much for everyone, for people she knew and loved, for people she loathed, for people she didn't even know. She was no longer that little girl he had known years ago. He finally realized that her character had grown stronger over that time, and that, sadly, that growth had taken a great toll on her life. He saw the dark circles of weariness beneath her eyes and the small lines of worry forming on her skin. Beneath what he could see, he knew the enormous burden she carried inside—the same burden that he and all close to him had carried for so long.

"We can't change anything now," he repeated dejectedly.

"Remember _The Great Gatsby_?" she asked suddenly.

"Y-yes."

"Gatsby tried to change the past, but he couldn't. And he died because he refused to move along with his life…and his love," she said quietly, trying as hard as she could not break contact with his eyes. "Remember what they said, back at school? That the past cannot be changed. But 'the future—"

"—Belongs to those who make it,'" he finished.

"There will be no hope if we try to change the past," she whispered in a low voice, moving closer to him. "But there will be hope if we try hard to fix what we've done wrong—if we try to fix it _now_."

_Speak to me, when all you got to keep is strong_

_Move along, move along like I know you do_

_And even when your hope is gone _

_Move along, move along just to make it through_

_Move along_

_(Go on, go on, go on, go on)_

"But can we fix anything now?" he asked doubtfully, the tears still flowing. "Are we noble enough?"

"No one's noble enough," were the words that escaped her lips. "But we have to have faith."

"In what?"

She just looked at him plainly. "You know well enough."

He suddenly remembered something—a prayer he had learned long ago and had never understood—never understood until now.

"Monty…" he breathed with a newfound realization. "What he was saying at the memorial service after the fire…"

"_God grant me the serenity—_" she murmured, the memory creeping back into her mind as well.

"—_To accept the things I cannot change—_" he continued.

"—_To change what I can—_" they both recited in unison.

_When everything is wrong, we move along_

_(Go on, go on, go on, go on)_

_When everything is wrong, we move along_

_Along, along, along_

"—_And to have the wisdom to know the difference_."

_When all you got to keep is strong_

_Move along, move along like I know you do_

_And even when your hope is gone_

_Move along, move along just to make it through_

_When all you got to keep is strong_

_Move along, move along like I know you do_

_And even when your hope is gone_

_Move along, move along just to make it through_

"There is hope," she said to him, her eyes still glistening from the countless tears she had shed.

"For everyone?" he asked like a little child asks his parent an important question, wanting to cling to whatever answer is given.

"Yes," she replied, suddenly beginning to sob. "Y-yes. There _is _hope. For _everyone_. There always has been, and there always will be."

"Are you s-sure?" he sobbed back, placing his hands on her shoulders as he began to shake.

"Oh, Lemony," she sighed, and embraced him tightly, rubbing his back and not wanting to let go. For his sake and hers.

_When all you got to keep is strong_

_Move along, move along like I know you do_

_And even when your hope is gone_

_Move along, move along just to make it through_

_(Move along)_

_(Go on, go on, go on, go on)_

_Right back what is wrong_

_We move along_

After a few minutes, they pulled apart, and gazed at each other. She admired his strength, even in times like these—a strength that never failed, no matter how downcast he could become. She knew that the flame of his courage flickered somewhere deep in his heart, and that he would never let it be extinguished. By anything. Because it was that flame which made him who he was.

"D-do y-you think we'll m-make it? All of us?" he asked shakily.

"In what way, I don't know, but I'm sure that we'll make it. No matter what happens to us. After all, we have the children. They _are_ the hope that still remains. And will always be," she answered, knowing truly that what she had said was right.

"Thank God for them," he remarked, his voice barely audible.

"Yes," she answered. "And thank God for you," she added in a low whisper, leaning against him.

And although the smoke drifted higher into the sky, and the sun began to sink below the horizon, the taxi continued to move along the road.

_(Go on, go on, go on, go on)_

_Right back what is wrong_

_We move along_

_(Go on, go on, go on, go on)_

_Right back what is wrong_

_We move along…_


End file.
